Behaving Like A Man

Originally posted on Dusk Is Falling:

For thousands of years any time a woman did something a man thought inappropriate she was accused of wanting to be a man, of being too mannish, of being unwomanly. We are still fighting this same battle today, ironically backed up by liberal progressive pseudo-science that agrees there are ways of really behaving like a man or a woman.

When we examine the history of this struggle, we find it written about in curious ways. There will be innocuous sentences like, ‘in the past it was thought inappropriate for women to work outside the home, but gradually greater numbers of women became accepted into the workforce’. This is not an actual quote, you understand, but a stand-in for thousands that I’ve read just like it. Not only does it obscure the agent (just WHO thought it was inappropriate for women to work outside the home) but it also obscures the…

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the first time I watched my favorite movie.

This is part of a series of get-to-know-myself entries.

First off, I don’t have one favourite movie.

Second; Twilight is the movie that first came to mind.

The first time I watched Twilight it was on a bootleg compilation bought for Casino Royale. I looked at the cover, saw the poster of Edward Cullen looking other than human, over very human Bella. The title kept nagging at me, so I googled it. Was I not pleased to find it was the movie CNN had highlighted a month before as Twilight beat Casino Royale at the US Box Office?

I was immensely pleased.

I popped it in, sitting down to get my hair braided. I wanted my sister and aunt, who were in the living room with me, to watch it. I just felt it was a good showing.

The quality was a mess; blurry, sepia colour clashing with the grey tone of the movie; and the cinema echo of a bad camcopy. I saw about half of it as I had to tilt my head to get my hair done.

I still loved it. And I watched it over, and over; and once, my aunt found me watching it. She sat down, and became hooked. Thereafter, I campaigned a cinema to show the movie. It was shown in the worst hall; but I still loved watching it. Afterwards, I bought a bootleg copy, HD quality then cause the DVD was out by then; and I stayed rewatching the movie for months. I watch it occasionally now; and I still get immensely pleased by it.


Don’t Mourn Me

I’m having a day. I’ve been having days; but today is intense.

I’ve been asking myself once again what my point in life is; and again, finding no words other than nothing. Instead of dwelling on how useless I am to myself, though; I decided to think of how I want guys to deal with my death.

It’s pretty simple. I don’t want grieving. Yes, it would be nice to have people be saddened, so moved by my death that they need weeks to feel anything but sombre. However, I rarely mourn that long. After a day, or three, I’m back to the way I was before knowing of the death. I’d prefer if they celebrated having known me. Have a party; watch a fun movie; laugh at nothing; dance. And then, get over it.

Additionally, I would like it if there was no burial. If my body is found; although I intend to give my body for organ donation; cremate it, and toss the ashes onto Mount Kenya.

Furthermore, I’d like everything of mine burned; photos, clothes, certificates; written works, and online accounts deleted. Every single trace of me gone.

I think I’d rest well, then; if I don’t disappear into oblivion as energy matter.

Mzee Jomo Kenyatta Was A Kalenjin, Says Too.


Cause we were talking about this guy today; my aunts and I.

Originally posted on Kenya News in Swahili and English:

After years of research I am now able to display Jomo Kenyatta’s early portrays, his real father and why he dropped [his] Kikuyu names (Kamau). Mzee Jomo Kenyatta is believed to have been a Kipsigis who grew up among the Kikuyu.

The legend is like this. After the demise of the great Nandi Oloibon Kipnyolei arap Turugat (Simbolei) his sons went to other parts of the Kalenjinland. One of them, Chebochok arap Boiso was to stay in Londiani in Kericho District. While in Londiani arap Bosio met a young lady later to become the mother of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta. It is believed that their friendship resulted in the birth of Kenyatta whom we are told was originally called Johnstone Peter Kamau. Kamau’s mother Wamboi is reported to have been a widow who used to herd cattle in Londiani. She later sought employment in European farms in Central Province. While in…

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I had a dream the other night

This morning, actually.

I was in some sort of gang. We were out to stop some other guys from what we thought were bad actions. I kept calling the guy at the helm at the homebase Banshee. I haven’t watched Banshee in a long wile, so I don’t know why I decided that name suited him; but it flowed. So we spent some time intercepting rogue matatus, messing up the other gang’s actvities. It came to a head when they sent some younguns after us, and we managed to subdue them. For the most part. One or two escaped, I think.

At the point we brought in the other younguns, here were hugs all around, and I found that Banshee and I were having something on going, even if it wasn’t physically sexual.

Now I remember why I called him Banshee. I remembered the Sheriff/Siobhan hook ups that I like on the show. Compared them to us in that Banshee and I were working together; although I wouldn’t say he was boss.

Anyway, Banshee came through with a bit about how we were the good guys, above punishing the younguns from the other side harshly. So, the captured rivals were taken elsewhere to be treated well.

Next I remember is hanging out with another in-command, and he was the mole from the rival side. Apparently, he and I were erotic partners; and I was the sounding board of his reasons why he was against Banshee and co. It sounded legit, considering their main issue was that Banshee and co were the bad guys in their view.

I got tired of the issues, and decided to get the hell out of dodge. In-command and co. had a plan that involved sabotaging something, and I took advantage of the commotion of setting out to escape. Only I didn’t get far having entered a matatu that was allied to In-command.

I was given a note by the conductor from In-command, telling me to go back, that we needed to talk, ad he wasn’t going to harm me or anyone else I knew.

I figure I went back cause i was heading there; and it disturbed me enough to wake me up.

It was plenty enjoyable as far as morning dreams go. Wish I remembered more.

The Family

Sometimes, I understand why people kill off their families. Not for nothing, a lot of families make psychopaths and sociopaths of people. And a whole lot of families would be gone if it weren’t for people who believe in better tomorrows, and those too afraid to actually kill their families.

Why these thoughts?

Cause I’m vexed by my family, and I know my family is vexed by me. And since I see no option in leaving with my life; cause for economic, and other reasons, no one but the eldest has left; it makes for murderous ideas; and suicidal ones.

Mainly suicidal ones.

Which informs my reasons to not create a family that I have to be responsible for. I can’t imagine how I’ll handle people I made with a cool, sober mind.

Shaking My Informed Conscience

Maina Njenga, of the reformed mafia don profile, has had his church shut down in Kitengela by the cops. This comes after he was refused the allowance to bury his wife in Kitengela, cause some unnecessary humans decided his money was good enough, but not his right to the land he purchased.

They claim heritage or some such misuse of an otherwise admirable claim.

The cops, instead of protecting Njenga’s rights to establish his church, and bury his wife on grounds he’s procured legally; decide to not.

This makes nonsense considering the point of the police, that is to protect people from threats that are unnecessary and infringing upon legally acquired rights.

I’m no fan of Njenga; but if the cops shouldn’t follow these unnecessary, and unfair precendences of removing people from their deeded lands. Especially because the land has been acquired lawfully. And also, because they don’t move as quickly, or act as decidedly when the land in question has been dubiously, and illegally acquired. Like I don’t see the white guys getting kicked off their land no matter how much the natives re-affirm that the land is theirs by heritage.

the cops in this case, should protect Njenga, his property, and his people. The ones threatening Njenga should find themselves warned, and slapped with court orders demanding they stay away or face lock up.

But for things to actually run logically, and accordingly in this world in general, is like asking for water with an open hand to hold it.


I don’t write a lot, or publish, rather, because I don’t feel like anyone listens or wants to know what I’m thinking. I keep my meta opinions to myself. And they come through when I’m having conversations. As such, I’m always being told, I’d be a great writer; which I don’t deny. But what’s the point of being a writer if you have no audience?

Well, I am my audience. So when I write, I do it and put it on a platform I can access for myself. I learned, over a decade, to stop looking for people’s attention. To stop waiting for someone to look like they were listening to me for me to develop a way of thinking, stories, of engaging on certain topics. I have developed a way to hold multiple views without feeling conflicted. Cause life’s not always expressly categorical.

However, I don’t give people the same courtesy. Too many people, I have met, tend to have a categorical way of looking at situations. It’s an either/or mentality for them. So, I tend to regard a lot of people as daft when they voice their opinions, and they sound less than well thought through. And usually, they aren’t engaging me to have a discussion, and explore the topic of conversation; but to impress upon an audience their opinions, their points of view. To be validated by having one more person hear them out. They regard this as a confirmation that their point of view is correct. Such engagements leave little confidence in me to share my opinions with people. So, I keep them to myself most times.

Tis a Friday

Got a lot on my mind; but for the first time, a response from my supervisor doesn’t make me anxious.

Of course, there’s a problem with the content of the work she’s already altered. I think realising she’s the problem, and not myself, has enabled e to not be affected immensely by her responses. They used to make me unable to think, or do much with my thesis. I took three months off a few times to deal with the anxiety, cause for a chunk of 2013, I thought I was the problem. It’s a relief to know I’m not. It’s not a relief to know I’m not going to graduate this year, cause she’s taking too long to accept her own words.

Yes, this thesis isn’t my work. No reason to lie. It’s hers. I just provide a scapegoat; or proxy for her. I wish she would just work faster at accepting that she’s imperfect, and quit making me work forever and twenty months on a project that shouldn’t take more than half the time.

Masters are suckious when the supervisor is difficult to work with.

Am I Right; or am I the only one?

Meh, it is both also.

I ask myself this a lot when I feel like opinions, and situations are beyond kosher personally.

Like when people insist the govt is at fault for everything; including security. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 3 decades of life as if the citizens have nothing to do with it. I think the citizens should ignore the authorities and take security matters into their own hands. Learn defense tactics, stock up on armour; forge alliances across county lines. Ever relying on govt and ‘your people’ mentality of yore hurts and harms. It doesn’t help. Unless you’re the guys perpetrating the harm, in which case, I suppose it’s a success to rely on such ideology from them days when the colonialists manipulated it too pit Africans against each other and keep from mobilising to defeat the imperial govt.